Thanatosis
by Frost Deejn
Summary: Another possible result of the events in "Seeing Red." A simple misunderstanding threatens to put a tragic premature end to Calleigh and Eric's love story, but an undercover investigation may give them the chance to rekindle it.
1. Part I: Schism

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Author's note: To reduce confusion, I'm informing you up front that the scenes in Part I aren't in chronological order.

**Thanatosis**

"We really are on the same side this time, Horatio," Rick Stetler insisted. "You have to agree that if a cop killed someone, he can't be allowed to walk free."

"From what I've heard of Detective George Gorski, he seems to be highly respected."

"He's been with the force for ten years. There are a lot of people who aren't going to be happy if they find out he's a person of interest in a missing person's case. That's why we think it's best to have CSI take a look at the hotel to determine whether there was a crime committed there before we even let the police department find out we're investigating." Stetler spoke reluctantly. Asking for the CSI lab's help on this was not his idea.

Horatio didn't like the situation, but it was true that a rogue cop in the department had to be stopped. And he saw an opportunity to possibly solve another problem at the same time. "I'll put Calleigh and Eric on it," he said, looking over the file in front of him.

Stetler blinked. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"They are my two best and most experienced CSIs. If a murder occurred at that hotel, they will find evidence of it."

"But it's only been six weeks since Calleigh accidentally shot Delko. I can't imagine they're working together smoothly after that."

"They aren't letting the incident interfere with their professional relationship," Horatio assured him, and if he put a little more emphasis on the word "professional" than he meant to, Stetler didn't notice.

"Working undercover with someone takes a lot more than working together in a lab. Are you sure they're personal issues won't get in the way?"

"I'm sure they're the best team for the job," he replied.

* * *

Calleigh's footsteps always slowed when she passed the DNA lab. It reminded her of the day Eric went missing...the day she shot him...

Valera analyzed the blood from the car. "It's a match," she said solemnly. "It's Eric."

Calleigh turned and left the room. Horatio followed her. In the hall, she wrapped her arms around herself and couldn't keep from weeping.

"There's no way to know..." Horatio began, trying to find words to comfort her.

"Eric is out there somewhere, _bleeding,_" Calleigh said. "Because of me."

"We'll find him," he promised.

Her voice was small. "In time?"

* * *

Calleigh drove the car as Eric read through their assignment. "Paloma Saavedra, eighteen, worked as a housekeeper at the White Lotus Hotel. She lived with her parents who reported her missing three days ago. Her boss said she hasn't been to work in four days."

"What's the story with Detective Gorski?"

"He checked into that hotel the night before she disappeared. IAB was watching him for misuse of funds. He's suspected of keeping a mistress and listing her as a confidential informant."

"Saavedra?"

"That's the story. It's a poor neighborhood. Lots of crime, lots of drugs, lots of illegal immigrants. Someone working in that hotel would have an inside scoop on anything big going down."

"Makes sense."

"The thing is, the day before she disappeared, Saavedra made a post on her Facebook that she was going to see her boyfriend."

"What does Gorski say?"

"He reported that he met with Saavedra at the hotel without incident. IAB is keeping him from finding out she was reported as missing. They want to move quickly on this case, and find out if Gorski is involved without giving him a chance to cover his tracks more than he already has."

"And that's where we come in."

"There was an initial search of the hotel that didn't turn up anything. Saavedra's key card was used to clock out Friday night. Her parents last saw her Friday morning, but she told them she would be out late Friday night, and they said she usually left for work before they woke up, so they didn't know she was missing until Saturday night."

"Okay. So we search the hotel to find what everyone else missed."

Eric smiled at her. It was nice that they were starting to get some of their old easy banter back. "If anything happened in that hotel, we'll find out. The trick will be not letting anyone know we're looking for it. What?" he asked when she chuckled.

"This could be fun."

* * *

When Eric first awoke in the hospital after being shot at the armory, he found Horatio in the room with him.

"Eric," he said when he saw his eyes open. "How are you feeling?"

He was dizzy from pain killers, disoriented, in pain from the gunshot and resulting surgery, and distressed at Calleigh's absence. "Calleigh," he said, "Where is she? The shoot-out...Was she hurt?"

Horatio took a couple of seconds to answer. "Not physically."

Eric had lied to her, had gotten caught in a crossfire and taken one of her bullets. If she wasn't there, it had to mean she was so angry at him she wanted him to suffer. "Where is she?" he repeated plaintively.

"Talking to IAB. Stetler had to threaten her with arrest to get her to leave your side."

"She's not in trouble, is she?" Eric's quiet voice creaked with worry. "They have to know...it was my fault."

"It wasn't your fault. You were trying to help your father."

Worry about Calleigh had superseded any thought of Sharova. "What happened to him?"

"Sharova was cleared by the paramedics. He's in protective custody now."

Eric sank back into the pillow. His eyes closed. "I lied to Calleigh."

"I figured as much."

"She must hate me now."

"No." Horatio paused again. "Not you."

* * *

Eric returned to work nine days after getting out of the hospital. Horatio was waiting in the lobby to greet him, ask him how he was doing, and instruct him to take it easy for a while. Ryan saw him in the locker room and welcomed him back, Natalia and Maxine stopped him in the hall to say hi. He didn't see Calleigh until that afternoon, by which time he was convinced she was deliberately avoiding him.

"Hey," she said at the door of the fingerprint lab. She had waited hours before working up the courage to see him because she was afraid he'd still be angry at her. She didn't know what he would say. She harbored a spark of hope that they still had a chance. Maybe he didn't mean what he'd said in the hospital, under the influence of severe pain and powerful drugs. She couldn't be sure he even remembered it. But she was scared. After all, what can you do after someone you loved and trusted says something so cruel but think that you never really knew them at all? "I heard you were back."

He looked up. "Yeah."

"How are you doing?"

"Fine," he replied. His injuries were still sore, but their estrangement hurt more. He had thought--half feared and half hoped--that now, after what she said to him in the hospital, he would finally stop being in love with her. Now she was in the same room with him, but he still wasn't sure how he felt. He hoped they would at least still be able to work together.

Calleigh was hurt and disappointed by his cold reception, but tried not to show it. "What are you working on?"

"I'm trying to figure out a suspect's shoe size and weight from an impression in a carpet."

"That's from Natalia's B&E case, right?" She moved closer to look at the carpet samples on the table in front of him.

"Yeah. Horatio doesn't want me in the field yet." He tensed at her closeness. In spite of how much she'd hurt him, he'd missed her the past week.

She noticed him stiffen, and thought it was irritation at her presence. "That might be a good idea," she said, not entirely hiding the pain in her voice caused by the guilt of being the cause of his medical leave. "I'll see you later."

"Yeah. Later."

He turned to watch her leave. When she paused a few steps down the hall to look back, he met her eyes for a second, then turned his attention back to his work.

* * *

"Which means this is definitely the same gun," Horatio said.

Calleigh nodded. "The bullets from the drive-by were definitely fired from this weapon, which is definitely the same caliber as the gun that killed Bryce."

"So he probably killed himself after finding out he'd shot the wrong person," Eric speculated. "His were the only prints on that gun."

"But to confirm that, we'll need the bullet from his body," Horatio said. "Eric, go down to autopsy and see if that bullet has been recovered yet."

"You got it."

Calleigh glanced after Eric as he left the ballistics lab.

"He seems to be recovering well from his injury," Horatio said, noticing her look.

"Yeah. He's tough."

Horatio spoke more softly. "How are you doing?"

"I'm not the one who was shot."

"There are a lot of wounds besides the ones we can see," he said.

Calleigh contemplated for a moment how much she wanted to admit. "I've been having this dream."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not really much to talk about. I just...in the dream he's dead. That's all. I guess it's not even really a dream, because nothing happens. It's just...I know he's gone. It's empty. And I wake up feeling like every cell in my body is breaking apart."

Horatio nodded as she described how he felt when he lost Marisol.

* * *

The White Lotus Hotel was a gray brick building off the highway a few miles outside the city. It was nestled in a poor, relatively sparsely populated area, where tall trees and clumps of kudzu encroached on the roads and yards from all directions. The hotel itself was surrounded by gardens and tall brick walls.

Eric stepped off the bus and looked around. Calleigh had dropped him off at a bus stop a few miles down the road and gone on ahead with her car to drive around and get a feel for the area. She would arrive later with bags and suitcases stuffed with forensic equipment. Eric carried only one duffel bag. Unlike Calleigh, he'd called ahead to make a reservation, requesting the same room Detective Gorski had been in. IAB had seen to it that the room wasn't released until just before Eric called, ensuring no one else would contaminate the possible crime scene. The next time he saw Calleigh, they would pretend to be complete strangers.

Eric hadn't expected the place to be appear so beautiful and cozy. He strongly suspected Horatio had given this case to him and Calleigh in a plot to reconcile them, especially in light of the conversation he'd had with Horatio less than a week ago.

"You are the bullet queen," he'd said as he looked through the file Calleigh had handed him.

She smiled and shrugged away the praise. "It's nothing."

"No one else could have possibly found a stria pattern embedded in plaster. I didn't think it was even possible."

"Well, the bullet had been slowed by passing through the body. It was a fluke, and it might not even hold up in court. But your suspect doesn't have to know that."

"Thanks Cal."

She smiled at him. "Anytime."

His eyes followed her as she walked away, impossibly graceful on her high heels, impeccably dressed, perfect in every way he could think of.

He didn't notice Horatio come up behind him. "Eric."

"H?" He reluctantly took his eyes off Calleigh. "Yeah?"

Horatio had been trying to think of a subtle way to tell Eric he was being an idiot. "I'm glad to see you and Calleigh aren't having trouble working together."

"Of course we're not. She's too much a professional to let what happened affect our cases."

"And what about you?"

"I'd never do anything to risk our working relationship," he answered. After a moment, he explained much more quietly. "It's all I have left."

"And you're satisfied with that?"

"It's what I started with. I was in love with her for two years before...she gave me a chance. And then, after just a few months--the happiest months of my life--I throw it all away. I ruin the best thing that ever happened to me, and for what? To save a criminal from the Russian mob just because he knocked up a woman in Cuba years ago?"

"That's a rather cynical way to characterize your relationship with your father."

"You know, there are a lot of contenders for worst mistake of my life, but..."

"Do you really think," Horatio asked, "That someone who could sit back and let his father die is the kind of person who would deserve Calleigh?"

"I can't think of anyone who deserves Calleigh."

"Maybe not. Maybe what you should be asking is who would make Calleigh happy."

"That's not me," Eric stated. "Not anymore."

"Have you talked to Calleigh about her opinion on the matter?"

"I don't have to. I know what she'd say. I lied to her. I let myself get caught in the crossfire, and put her in a position to shoot a police officer. She'll never forgive me for that." He shook his head. "Working with her is all I can ask for, and better than I deserve. I can't risk losing that."

"And how long do you think you can settle for that before you start resenting her?"

"That can't happen." It was unclear whether he meant that couldn't possibly happen, or he couldn't let that happen. Maybe it wasn't clear to him, either.

"Tell me, you're so sure she blames you, but is that the evidence talking, or your fear?"

"She can barely even look me in the eye."

"Maybe that's because she feels responsible. She feels guilty for what happened to you."

Eric frowned. That couldn't be true, could it? "She seems fine."

"You only see her when she's with you. When she's not with you, she's different. She only focuses on the cases, she doesn't smile, she's not happy. She misses you. Why do you think she works so much overtime since you've been back?"

Eric was having trouble believing what Horatio was saying. Hope stung too much. "Why?"

"Because work is the only time she has with you. Eric, when two people who care deeply for each other are torn apart, it's very painful. But when those two people are both still alive, living in the same city, and working in the same building, it's also senseless." He'd resisted using the word "stupid," or "pathetic." "You're hurting her and torturing yourself to no purpose. Talk. To. Her."

Horatio left. Eric stood in the hallway, thinking. Was it true? Was it possible Calleigh changed her mind about what she said in the hospital? He couldn't think of any way to ask her.

* * *

"Let me see him. Where is he? I need to see him." Calleigh pushed her way through the hospital doors.

Horatio caught her in his arms. "He's still in surgery. The doctors...they're hopeful."

She blinked rapidly. "If he dies...if I killed him...how can I live with that?"

"You didn't."

They waited in the hall until Eric was taken to the recovery room. They went in together.

Calleigh approached his bed slowly. He looked so pale. So still. He almost looked dead. "Eric." Her hand reached toward him, then stilled and fell to her side. "I betrayed him. He needed me. I should have been there for him. I should have helped him, but I told him..." She bit her lip and shook her head slightly. Tears were building in her eyes.

"Eric loves you. That's not going to change," Horatio quietly assured her.

She ran her hand over his hair. "I'm so sorry, Eric," she whispered. "For everything." It would have been better if she'd been the one to find him. That, at least, would have given her some measure of redemption. But it had been a canine search-and-rescue unit that found him in the swamp, on the verge of death.

Horatio reluctantly left the room, sensing that Calleigh needed a private moment.

"You said you'd stay with me as long as I wanted you to," she said. "I still want you to stay. Don't leave me, Eric. Please." She took a deep breath. She'd never loved anyone so much before. She'd never needed anyone so much before. Could she survive the pain and guilt if he died? Would they list "broken heart" as cause of death? "Darling, come back to me."

She wasn't sure he could ever forgive her after this. She'd made so many mistakes when it came to him, shooting him was likely to be the last straw. But at the moment she didn't really care; she just wanted him to wake up, to be alright.

* * *

A week after getting back to work, Eric was cleared to go in the field. His first case was an armed robbery at a gas station. Shots had been fired--one into the ceiling, one at the security camera--but no one had been hurt. Calleigh was already there when he arrived. He paused for a moment when he saw her. He'd been working with her in the lab, of course, but this was different. Now they were in the field where they could talk freely without fear of their colleagues overhearing. Horatio must have put them together deliberately, so they could prove they could still work together.

"Hey," he said, trying to sound cheerful.

"Hey." She stood up. "I've recovered the bullet from the wall. The one in the camera I think we shouldn't touch until we get it back to the lab. The cashier said the robber wasn't wearing gloves, so there might be prints on the door."

"Right. I'll get started on that." He was a little bothered by how casual Calleigh sounded, like she didn't see any significance to working together on this case at all, like it didn't even mean anything to her that they had once been lovers.

Of course, she always had been better at hiding her feelings than he was.

He got started printing the door, focusing on the handle but including the glass. They worked in uneasy silence, except for the word or two every few minutes about the case.

Someone once said it was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. Eric was pretty sure now that whoever said that was a vile liar.

* * *

The door of Eric's hospital room opened, revealing the unpleasant face of Rick Stetler. "I need to have a word with Delko."

Horatio stood and walked to the door. He saw Calleigh in the hall, there was fatigue and sadness hidden under her mask of calm resolve. "He's recovering from a bullet, Rick. Now is not a good time."

"I need to get his version of events while it's still fresh on his mind. This will only take two minutes."

"He's not talking to you without his union attorney present."

"I don't think you're getting the lay of the situation. Eric isn't in any risk of prosecution. There's no reason to think he had any prior knowledge of the robbery at the armory, but when one officer shoots another, there are going to be questions that need to be answered quickly."

He glanced toward Calleigh. Was Stetler implying _she _could be the one on the line? She was definitely more of a threat to his career ambitions than Eric was. Or if he knew about Eric and Calleigh's relationship, he could use Calleigh as leverage to get Eric to talk. But it could, as Stetler claimed, simply be a matter of standard procedure after an officer-involved shooting.

"You know," Stetler emphasized, "that nothing he says right now will be admissible in court, but if we don't talk to him promptly there are going to be questions about why."

"I'll tell you what," Horatio said as he set a countdown on his cell phone. "I'll give you _exactly _two minutes."

Stetler nodded and entered the room, closing the door behind him, leaving Horatio and Calleigh in the hall.

After a moment, Calleigh spoke. "You didn't call to tell me he was awake."

"I knew you would be here as soon as you could get away, regardless."

Her eyes were distant. "How is he?"

"His first concern," Horatio said, "was your well-being."

Stetler came out of the room a little over a minute after entering. "He's answered some basic questions, and says he'll cooperate fully when he gets out of the hospital. We should be able to clear this up in no time."

When Stetler walked away, Calleigh glanced at Horatio, who gave her a slight nod. She took a deep breath and entered Eric's room.


	2. Part II: The Misunderstanding

Calleigh was scared. It wasn't the abject terror she'd felt when Eric was missing and she didn't know if he was dead or alive, but she was so afraid that he wouldn't want to see her. She stepped into his room slowly, closed the door slowly, took one slow step toward his bed.

Eric's eyes opened when he heard someone else enter, and happiness flooded through him when he saw it was Calleigh.

"Hi," she said, smiling nervously.

"Calleigh."

Hearing how weak his voice was, she was angry at Stetler for talking to him in this condition. "Are you okay?" she asked.

Eric's eyes closed for a moment. He wondered why she was keeping her distance. And had that been a flicker of anger in her face a moment ago? Of course she must be angry after what he'd put her through. _I'll be fine if you still love me, _he wanted to say, but of course that wasn't something he could ask. He wished she would come closer. "Yeah," he finally said.

It was obviously a lie, and the only reason Calleigh could think of for him to say that was if he didn't want her to be concerned for him, didn't want her to stay. It didn't occur to her that he was trying not to make her feel worse. "I'm sorry," she said. "Eric, I'm sorry for everything."

He misconstrued her tone of restrained despair as coldness. Everything...she wasn't just sorry about shooting him, but about _everything?_ What did she mean? Was she sorry about getting involved with him in the first place? It seemed to be a confirmation of his worst fear; she didn't want to be with him after this.

She was hoping for some kind of forgiveness, some assurance that he didn't despise her now. She didn't get it.

"You don't mean that," he said in a tone that to her sounded accusatory.

He thought she wasn't sorry about shooting him? "Yes I do. It was a mistake, Eric."

Was she now saying that their relationship, the best thing that had ever happened to him, had been a mistake? "No it wasn't," he said as forcefully as he could.

She misinterpreted the hurt in his voice as reproach. Did he honestly believe she'd shot him on purpose? "I should go," she said, turning quickly so he wouldn't see the tears as they began dripping down her cheeks.

"Wait...Calleigh..." He wanted to beg her to stay, get her to change her mind, but he didn't know what he could say to do that.

The door closed, separating them. Both of their hearts were breaking.


	3. Part III: The Revivification

The White Lotus Hotel was small compared to most of the hotels in the heart of the city, but it was too clean and new to look rustic.

Calleigh walked up to the front desk carrying three bags and pulling a rolling suitcase behind her. "Hey," she said to the man at the desk, exaggerating her Southern accent. "Saw your vacancy sign. Got anything with all the windows facing west, preferably on the ground floor?" The only room in the hotel fitting those specifications was directly downstairs from Eric's, right next to the stairs.

The tall, plump, blond man whose name tag identified as "Roger" smiled at her pleasantly. "That we do. Are you just stopping for the night, or do you plan to enjoy our hospitality for a while?"

"Depends on my whim. I just finalize my divorce, and I'm takin' a road trip around the country to celebrate," she said with the unabashed openness of a stereotypical Southern woman.

He chuckled as he ran her credit card. "Good for you. Where you from?"

"Alabama. Left Montgomery a few days ago, been driving around ever since. This seems like a nice place to stay for a while."

"Make yourself at home," Roger said, handing her a key card to room 108.

"Thank you. Do you have a bellboy? I have six more bags like this in my car."

"That would be me. I'm the receptionist, manager, and bellboy."

"Well aren't you the little go-getter. My car's right out front."

* * *

Eric looked at the clock on the dresser of his hotel room. In his duffel bag, buried beneath clothes, was a box of latex gloves, a few different kinds of powders for lifting fingerprints, and a camera. He'd already done an initial overview of the room.

When he'd requested room 209, the receptionist told him they were shorthanded and hadn't had a chance to clean it since the last occupant, which he said was fine with him, implying it was his lucky number, and if he couldn't get it he'd find another hotel. Anything left by the missing girl or their suspect should still be there.

He'd seen some prints on the desk, bedside lamp, and doorknob that he visually compared to a copy of George Gorski's prints from his police file. They appeared to be a match. Not that that told them anything they didn't already know.

He swabbed the drain in the sink and tub to run the Kastle-Meyer test. The swab didn't turn pink after adding alcohol, phenolphthalin, and hydrogen peroxide, indicating no trace of blood in the drains. He turned around again, scanning the hotel room for anything out of place. Then he photographed it, getting everything in the room from a few different angles. He began looking over the bed. He didn't find any semen or vaginal discharge, but he found a black pubic hair he photographed and then slipped into an evidence bag. Then he glanced at the clock again. It was 5:46. He was going to the restaurant downstairs at 5:50. Locking up what evidence he'd gathered in the closet, he left the room.

* * *

Calleigh had gone to the restaurant several minutes earlier. She now sat at a table near the window with a plate of hamburger and french fries and a glass of red wine in front of her. At the moment, the room was empty but for a young couple at a booth in the corner and the waitress clearing dishes from a recently abandoned table.

Eric entered and looked around as though trying to decide on a table. His eyes stopped at Calleigh for a moment, then he glanced around again before walking over to her.

"It's not everyday that you see a beautiful woman sitting alone," he said to her.

She glanced up and laughed. "Is that supposed to be a come-on? Because, truthfully, I've heard better."

"No, just..." he looked flustered, like he was thinking about just walking away. "You look like you could use some company."

"You're the one who sounds like he needs the company," she replied with a derisive smile and a sip of her wine.

He rolled his eyes. "Do you mind if I join you, or not?"

Her eyes flicked down and up as she looked him over. "Not," she determined. "Have a seat."

"Thanks." He sat slowly, as though expecting her to change her mind. "I'm Eric."

"Calleigh. Pleasure. What brings you here, Mr. Eric?"

He smiled at her exaggerated Southern accent and mannerisms, but suppressed it quickly. "I'm just...getting away from my normal routine for a while, trying to sort some things out. You?"

She gave him the same just-divorced story she'd fed the receptionist, throwing in a bit about a younger woman and joint credit card accounts, with an overly sweet smile that didn't reach her eyes. Eric admired her acting abilities.

The waitress came over to take his order.

"I'll have _exactly _what she has," he said, indicating the hamburger and wine.

They chatted for a while over the dinner. Eric made up a clumsy story about how his cousin got back at her ex-husband, then they spent a few minutes in awkward silence, then made small talk about hotel food and the weather lately. The other couple in the restaurant left, and a few new diners trickled in before they finished their meals, paid on separate bills, and proposed taking a walk.

They went to Calleigh's hotel room, where she'd begun unloading forensic testing supplies on the desk, dresser, and counter tops.

"Have you found anything?" she asked.

"Some prints and a pubic hair. No blood, no signs of a struggle."

"She could've just run away. Not unheard of for a girl her age."

"But if she was seeing Detective Gorski, she probably would have gone to him if she ran. IAB's been watching him since even before she disappeared," Eric pointed out.

"You're right. The best-case scenario isn't the likeliest scenario." She finished loading cotton swabs and empty evidence bags in a small kit. "Most of the rooms are vacant, and there aren't many people working here, so we probably won't have too much trouble if we search the rest of the hotel. We just need to make sure the coast is clear before we take samples or photographs."

"So where do we start?"

"Well, if Paloma Saavedra's body were still in the hotel, someone would have noticed a smell already, so if Gorski killed her here, he had to move the body. Let's take a look around outside."

* * *

The sun had set, and the autumnal sky was a dark and darkening blue. The air was heavy with humidity, and fireflies flashed in the surrounding trees and bushes. Most of the windows in the hotel were dark, and the few that weren't had the curtains drawn. Eric and Calleigh were both looking around the outside perimeter with flashlights.

"Hey Cal," Eric called. "Look at this."

She followed his voice to the dumpster behind the building. He was shining his flashlight at a brown smear on one of the black bags.

"Is that blood?"

He handed her his flashlight and climbed down into the piles of garbage bags. "Could you hand me the Luminol?"

Calleigh put down the flashlights and plucked the Luminol out of her kit.

Eric spritzed the solution over the black garbage bags.

The one with the dark smear began glowing around the knot tying it closed.

"That looks like a hand print," Calleigh said as she took a few photographs.

"And this looks like mud. I bet this was hidden in the woods and then moved here after the initial search of the hotel."

"That would explain why the searchers missed it. Let's take it back to my room and see what's inside."

* * *

They spread out a plastic sheet on the floor, carefully cut open the garbage bag, and laid out the contents--mostly balled-up paper towels, used coffee filters, food wrappers, and various papers--which they photographed before spraying with Luminol and turning out the lights.

"Oh my God," Calleigh whispered. She quickly placed markers next to everything that lit up.

"Someone cleaned up a lot of blood," Eric noted, quickly counting how many of the paper towels were testing positive.

"Look at this." Calleigh pointed at a slip of paper beside the bloody paper towels.

Eric knelt down and tilted his head to read it. "A receipt for fast food, paid for with cash. What about it?"

"Look at the date and time."

"That was Saturday morning," he said, beginning to catch on. "And that would have been below the bloody paper towels."

"If that's Paloma's blood, then it's not likely she was killed Friday night."

"Because the killer probably wouldn't have waited to clean up until the next day." Eric teased open one of the bloody paper towels. "There's something else in here. Dirt and plant matter. The killer could have buried something.

"Maybe in the garden? Where disturbed dirt wouldn't be noticed?"

Eric picked up a flashlight. "Let's take a look."

* * *

The garden was lit only by the orange streetlight at the corner and a few small lamps. It was well kept, with paths made by stepping stones winding between flower bushes and saplings.

"I don't know. It doesn't look like there would be much room to hide anything out here," Calleigh said, running the beam of her flashlight over the ground.

"There's not even a footprint," Eric observed.

"We should still get some soil samples for the lab to compare to the dirt in the paper towels."

"Good idea."

They began collecting samples from around the garden, keeping their eyes open for any other possible evidence

"Ouch."

When Calleigh heard Eric get hurt, she immediately rushed over to him, thinking back to the last time he was injured: her bullet at the shootout. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"Yeah. Something poked me." He turned his flashlight on the branch he'd just pushed aside, illuminating a brilliant red rose.

"Let me see." Calleigh took his hand and examined the drop of blood on his palm, standing out against the white latex of his glove. The guilt she still harbored from shooting him weeks ago returned. She never wanted him to get hurt because of her again.

Eric wasn't thinking of the shooting; he was reminded of the time Calleigh had been cut by a sliver of glass at a crime scene. "It's nothing. It's fine. I'm fine." Heat spread through him as he realized this was the first time she'd touched him since he got out of the hospital. He wasn't sure why she was being so overly protective of him, but didn't mind it. Maybe she still cared about him. Maybe there was a chance they could get passed what happened. "I guess I just have to remember that roses have thorns," he said.

Calleigh felt like he was talking about her, but wasn't sure what he meant. "You should get that cleaned up, so it doesn't get infected," she suggested. "I can finish up here."

"No. It barely broke the skin." He wasn't about to leave her alone at a possible crime scene. He drew his hand away and quickly bagged the sample.

Calleigh watched him for a moment, then said quietly, "Eric, it's important to me that you know that...I need to know that you know that, despite what happened, I'll always have your back."

"Of course I know that." He smiled, almost laughing. "I trust you with my life, Cal. I always have."

It sounded like he meant it. But how could he say that after what he'd said in the hospital? Was it possible... No, he had to remember what he'd said. Otherwise why had he been so cold toward her afterward? She wasn't sure what to believe. "Good," she said.

They were both silent for several seconds. Eric wished he could ask her if she still trusted him...not with her life--he assumed that much--but trusted him not to lie to her, not to hurt her again. But he was sure he wouldn't like her answer.

"So," Calleigh said, "We know that someone cleaned up blood and mud, but we still don't know where."

"We know that somewhere in this hotel someone got a lot of blood on his hands. They had to touch a doorknob at some point."

"Right," she agreed. "But the doorknobs are metal, which could give us a false positive with the Luminol."

"Phenolphthalein?" Eric asked.

Calleigh smiled and did her best impression of Horatio. "Phenolphthalein."

* * *

Starting with the room where Detective Gorski had presumably met with the victim, then moving systematically through the hotel's halls while being careful to avoid being observed, Eric and Calleigh swabbed each doorknob, then added alcohol, phenolphthalin, and hydrogen peroxide to each swab and recording whether it turned pink immediately, a positive indicator for blood. They put each swab in a carefully labeled evidence bag.

By this time, it was very late, and most of the hotel's handful of patrons were already asleep. The halls were deserted.

"We've got pink." Eric found their first positive reaction on the door leading outside to the garden.

"I've got one here, too," Calleigh said, holding a bright pink swab from a door marked "Employees Only."

"Is it locked?"

She tried the handle. "No."

Looking around furtively, Eric followed her through the door. "This is covered by the warrant, right?"

"The hotel and the property surrounding it. If there's any evidence inside someone's private locker or car, we're out of luck."

Behind the door they found a storage room with doors leading to a supply closet and a break room, which had a keypad lock. The door handle to the break room tested positive for blood. They could tell from the dark crack beneath the door that the light in the next room was off.

Eric and Calleigh looked at each other. "We'd need to get a subpoena for the passcode," Calleigh said solemnly. They both knew that if it was another employee who killed Paloma, the subpoena might alert them to the fact that they were being investigated, giving them time to destroy evidence or run. Plus, it would take some time.

"I have another idea," Eric said. He opened his kit and took out some magnetic fingerprinting powder and a magnetic brush. Calleigh watched as he dusted the keypad. The numbers 1, 4, 8, 9, and 0 revealed numerous overlapping fingerprints.

"Good thinking," she said. "But, assuming none of the numbers are used twice, that still gives us a hundred and twenty possible combinations."

He smiled at her.

"What?"

"You doing one of your math tricks. You know how that turns me on." He bit his lip and looked away, realizing he probably shouldn't have said that. "If any of the numbers were used more than once, the fingerprints would be noticeably thicker on it. I don't see that. But each time someone touches something, some fingerprint oil comes off, so if some people use one finger to press each of the buttons, the fingerprints might be heaviest on the first button, and progressively lighter until the last." He stooped down and shined his flashlight on the key pad.

"I don't see any difference," Calleigh said, just getting over being flustered from Eric telling her she was turning him on.

"I do," he said. His gloved finger pressed 94801, and a tiny red light blinked. Then he tried 94810, and the red light blinked again. He examined it more closely and tried 94081, and a green light flashed. He turned the handle and opened the door. He smiled triumphantly.

"Now who's turning who on?" Calleigh asked flirtatiously as she slid passed him into the break room.

It was a typical break room: white tile floor, table, refrigerator, microwave, coffee maker, bulletin board. Eric went to the sink and ran a Kastle-Meyer test on the drain. The swab immediately turned bright pink.

"This place looks like it's been cleaned pretty thoroughly, pretty recently," Calleigh said, examining the floor.

Eric watched her spray Luminol around the room, then turned off the light.

Glowing smears appeared on the floor, wall, sink, and along the sharp ledge of the counter.

"Looks like someone was beaten in here," he said. "Brutally."

"You know what this means, right?"

"Detective Gorski is innocent. Paloma was murdered by one of her coworkers."

* * *

After quickly taking photographs and bagging the blood swabs from the break room, Eric and Calleigh left. They didn't want to be caught in the act of investigating, possibly by the murderer himself.

"Wait a minute," Eric said. He photographed the keypad, then took out five strips of fingerprint lifting tape to preserve the evidence and erase the signs of their presence.

Calleigh nervously watched the door to the hall.

Eric finished lifting the prints and putting them in individually labeled evidence bags, then he and Calleigh headed for the door.

A shadow fell across the strip of light along the bottom of the doorway.

Doing the first thing that popped into her head, Calleigh pushed Eric around so that his kit and her camera were hidden behind them, then pressed her body against his, wrapped one leg around him, and began kissing his neck, nibbling lightly the way she knew he liked.

Eric's eyes closed and his blood began racing. He knew in his mind that it was an act, but his body didn't care.

A second later the door opened. They looked up and saw a middle-aged Latina in a housekeeping uniform. When she saw them in what looked to be a very compromising position, her eyes widened. "You're not supposed to be back here," she informed them, caught between embarrassment and irritation.

"I'm sorry. We'll leave," Calleigh said in a high-pitched tone that made her sound absolutely mortified. "Can you just give us a minute to get ourselves decent?"

The woman shook her head in dismay, then turned and walked down the hall as quickly as she could, leaving the door open.

Eric looked down at her. "You are incredible," he whispered, his voice unintentionally husky.

"Come on," she whispered back. She poked her head into the hall to make sure the coast was clear before beckoning Eric to follow her. They darted down the hall to her room.

* * *

Calleigh called Horatio--who, in spite of the lateness of the hour, now well after midnight, was still awake--to tell him what they'd found. Eric sorted through the evidence, putting the samples they'd collected in a duffel bag for Calleigh to deliver to the lab tomorrow. He realized she was watching him, looked up at her and couldn't help but smile. She smiled back.

"It's been quite a day," she said.

"Yeah. And tomorrow's going to be another one." He wondered if she was hinting that he should leave. He didn't want to. He would have given anything for her to ask him to stay.

Calleigh glanced down. "You know you're amazing, right?" When he didn't say anything, she continued. "Figuring out the code to the door. I don't know if anyone else would have seen that, or even thought of it."

"I'm sure you could have."

"No."

Eric looked down. "We really do make a good team."

There was a lingering hint of a smile on her lips. "Yes we do."

"I was thinking," he said, "Paloma was working as a confidential informant for the police. I bet there are a lot of people around here who would see that as a betrayal. Could be motive."

"Yeah."

They were quiet for a minute, then Eric stood. "I guess there's not much else we can do right now. Good night." He turned toward the door.

"Wait," Calleigh implored.

He turned back toward her, hope in his eyes.

She wanted to ask him to stay. The words were on the tip of her tongue. She'd been increasingly feeling their old closeness returning throughout the day. And he hadn't seemed to mind that ruse she pulled in the storage room. But she was so scared. If he no longer had feelings for her, she would only sound desperate and clingy. He might consider it harassment and request a transfer. It was a huge risk.

But she still loved him. As much as he'd hurt her, she wanted to be with him, even if it was just for the night.

"What is it?" Eric asked, sounding almost as nervous as she was.

"I think we screwed up."

He hoped she would say the break-up in the hospital never should have happened. "How?"

"Detective Gorski's room is still evidence. If you sleep there, you could contaminate it."

Eric started laughing. "I guess we didn't think of everything," he said. "And it would look suspicious if I requested a different room after insisting on that one."

"Well..." Calleigh shrugged and gestured at the bed she was sitting on, avoiding looking at him. "It's a big bed. It's not like we've never shared a bed before."

"You wouldn't mind?"

"If I minded, I wouldn't have suggested it."

Eric couldn't stop smiling. "I'll get my things. I'll be back in a minute."

While he was gone, Calleigh quickly showered, put on her pajamas, and brushed her teeth. She rushed to the door at Eric's soft knock.

"The shower's ready for you. I'm sure you need one after that dumpster diving," she joked.

He laughed, dizzily happy and unable to think of anything to say.

Calleigh went to bed and listened to him shower. A few minutes later, she felt him climb into the covers next to her.

Eric was careful not to touch her. He couldn't believe that Calleigh had invited him to stay. He wondered, somewhere between a hope and a wish, if it meant their relationship wasn't broken, just bruised, that what happened at the hospital had been more of a lover's quarrel than a break-up. If he touched her and she pulled away, it would take away that hope. But then he felt her fingers brush against his, and he couldn't resist taking her hand.

She didn't pull away.

They both wanted to stay awake for a little while just to enjoy being in the same bed again, but they fell asleep within minutes.

* * *

As usual, Calleigh awoke first. They had moved closer in their sleep. She glanced at the clock. It was just before six. She turned on her side and placed her arm gently over his chest. This woke him up, but he pretended he was still asleep for a few minutes, until he thought she had fallen back asleep, then he lifted his hand to stroke her arm. When she sighed softly, he decided she was still awake. He turned toward her, eyes open, and brushed her hair back from her face, and let her hair slide through his fingers. He leaned toward her and, more lightly than he'd ever kissed anyone, touched his lips to her forehead.

As it was, Calleigh barely felt it. If she'd been asleep, it wouldn't have woken her up. She didn't open her eyes.

After a few minutes of looking at her, Eric fell back asleep. When he woke up again it was after ten. Calleigh and the duffel bag of evidence were gone.

* * *

It was mid afternoon when Calleigh got back to the hotel. She didn't find Eric in their room or in Gorski's room, and started to get worried. She called his cell phone.

_"Delko,"_ he answered.

"Where are you?"

_"Following a lead. I'll be back at the hotel in a few minutes."_

"Okay. The blood was a DNA match to the sample from the toothbrush Paloma's parents provided. It's definitely her. It also matched the hair you found in Detective Gorski's bed."

"_Which means they probably were having an affair, but doesn't tell us who killed her. It's possible he could have followed her to the break room where she was murdered, but if we're right about the time line, it wouldn't have given him much time to get to work that morning_."

"It's not him," she said. "We're waiting on a warrant to arrest Roger Wick."

_"Who's Roger Wick?"_

"The hotel's manager, receptionist, and bellboy. I'll explain when I see you."

* * *

Two hours later, Eric and Calleigh watched from an observation room at the nearest police station as a local detective interrogated Roger Wick.

"How did you figure it out?" Eric asked.

"I didn't. You did."

He raised his eyebrows.

"You found the bloody hand print on the garbage bag."

"But we didn't have his prints until we arrested him today. What made you think it was him?"

"Well, I stopped at a coffee shop on my way to the lab, and the waitress from the hotel restaurant came in and started chatting with the barrista--in Spanish. Funny how many people assume I don't understand Spanish just because I'm blond. Anyway, the barrista used to work at the hotel, so she wanted all the latest gossip. They talked about Paloma running away with her city-cop boyfriend, Maria catching a couple of hotel guests having sex in the storage room, and about who Roger might choose as his new girlfriend now that Paloma's gone. Sounds like he has quite a way with his female employees."

"So you thought he got jealous of Paloma's relationship with Detective Gorski, or scared that she would rat him out, and killed her?"

She nodded. "Of course, hearsay wasn't going to get a warrant, but a bloody fingerprint matching a fingerprint off the credit card I handed him when I checked into the hotel did."

"Have I told you that you're a genius?"

"Not recently. You've been slacking."

He smiled at her. "I'll work on that."

They watched the interrogation for a few more minutes. Roger was still denying that he knew anything about Paloma's murder.

"Doesn't look like we're gonna get a confession," Calleigh said.

"We'll see about that." Eric stepped out, and a moment later entered the interrogation room. "Could I talk to Mr. Wick for a minute?" he asked the detective.

"Go ahead," she replied, standing up and taking a step back.

Roger looked at Eric, recognizing him from his check-in. "You're a cop?"

"I'm a CSI." He opened a file and took out a photograph of Paloma Saavedra. "She's a pretty girl. I talked to her parents earlier today. They just want to know where you hid her body."

"I didn't hide the body. I didn't kill Paloma."

"Actually, we know you did," Eric informed him. "We know why, we know how, we know where. All we don't know is where her body is. We'll find it on our own eventually, but it will be a lot better for us and for you if you just tell us where she is."

"I didn't kill her."

"Yes you did. You waited for Paloma to get to work Saturday morning, then you beat her to death in the break room. You smashed her head against the counter, again and again, then you dumped the body and cleaned up the blood before any of your other employees came in. We know that. We've already proven that. We know exactly what doors you opened as you were disposing of the evidence, exactly how many paper towels it took you to clean up the blood. We have everything we need to put you away for murdering Paloma, even without her body, so you're not doing yourself any favors by not telling us where she is."

He seemed to tense slightly every time Eric said Paloma's name.

"You had a relationship with her, right? You were in love with her."

Roger stared straight forward.

"And she left you. For him_._"

The suspect's eyes dropped to the table.

"I know what it's like," Eric continued. "You never imagine you can ever love someone that much, and then you do, and they fill your whole life, your whole heart. And then they take that love away, and you just feel empty. You would do anything to get back what you had with her. You would kill for it. You tried to talk to Paloma, right Roger?"

His face contorted with grief and guilt.

"You told her how much you loved her, begged her not to leave you, but it was already too late. She hated you."

He began shaking and slammed his fists against the table. Calleigh, watching transfixed from the observation room, jumped at the sound.

"How could she?" Roger asked angrily. "I loved her! She _knew_ I loved her! How could she...after all I've done for her...right under my nose..."

"You were angry. You didn't mean to hurt her."

"I said I'd give her another chance. She said she didn't want it. I just...I couldn't see straight. I thought I just hit her once, but then everything went red, and the next thing I knew there was blood all over and she was lying on the floor, not moving. I never meant to hurt her. How could I? I love her."

"Where did you take her body?" Eric repeated. "Her family wants to give her a proper burial."

Roger shook his head, his anger hardening into resolve. "She doesn't deserve a proper burial. She deserves to rot. I'll never tell."

* * *

Eric and Calleigh went back to the hotel to pack up the rest of their gear. They were disappointed that they still hadn't found the body, but at least they had the killer.

"You've been quiet since the police station," Eric commented, trying not to let on how much that worried him.

"Did you mean what you said in there? About...when someone you love leaves you? Or was that just to get to the suspect?"

"Well, I wouldn't kill for it," he said. "Why do you ask?"

"Do you really think I hate you?"

He didn't look at her, and didn't answer.

"Eric, I could never hate you. You're the love of my life."

Those words shocked him. Even before the shooting, he never would have guessed Calleigh's feelings for him came close to the way he felt about her.

She sighed. "I thought you hated _me_."

"Why would I hate you?"

She looked down and answered quietly. "I shot you."

"That was an accident. I know that. I would never hold it against you."

"That's not what you said in the hospital," she whispered.

He shook his head, trying to remember exactly what he'd said six weeks ago. "All I said was that our relationship wasn't a mistake."

"'Our relationship'?" Calleigh blinked in confusion. "I never said it was. Was that...you thought that's what I was talking about?"

He took a step back, rubbing his head, realizing how stupid he'd been. "I thought you said our relationship was a mistake."

"No." She stepped in front of him and looked him in the eyes. "I felt so terrible and so ashamed about shooting you that I guess I just read the worst interpretation into what you were saying. I should have listened to you." She shook her head at her idiocy. "How can I ever make it up to you?"

"Just promise never to do it again."

"Never do what again: shooting you or letting you think I don't love you?"

He smiled. "Preferably neither, but if you have to choose one...just make sure you aim for my heart next time."

She laughed.

"Calleigh." He wrapped his arms around her and laughed as the last lingering hurt and confusion disappeared. "I love you so much."

She laid her head on his chest and he rested his head on hers, her hair pressed to his cheek.

They held each other for minutes. Then Eric started kissing her hair. She turned her face up to him. Her eyes drifted to his lips. He studied her face for a moment before kissing her. She pulled him down to the bed, where they lay side-by-side with their arms around each other, kissing leisurely, as though trying to kiss away all the pain they'd unintentionally caused each other.

Then Calleigh's cell phone rang. She reluctantly drew away and answered it. "Duquesne...Uh huh...What was it?...Really? Thank you." She hung up and turned to Eric. "That was the lab. The mud from the garbage wasn't a match to the dirt in the garden. It had traces of rotting wood, lead paint, and a kind of sedge called _Eleocharis cellulosa, _which grows in wet environments like ponds and swamps."

"I think I might know where it's from." Eric said. "While you were taking the evidence to the lab, I thought I'd talk to the locals, find out what they thought about Paloma's disappearance. I talked to some school children from her neighborhood who were convinced she'd been swallowed by the local haunted house. They said it was an abandoned farmhouse in the woods."

Calleigh opened her laptop. She did a search for the address of the White Lotus Hotel on a satellite map, then looked at the woods behind it until she found what looked like the roof of a house. "There's something about a quarter mile northeast of here. It looks like there's a pond right next to it. Want to check it out?"

"Of course."

* * *

The woods behind the hotel were only a couple of square miles in size, but it was thick, with an underbrush of bushes and vines crisscrossed by ephemeral rivulets. Insects buzzed around them as they made their way through it. Every now and then, they would see a broken branch, a snagged thread, or some other evidence that someone had came through recently. It had rained since Saturday, so any footprints their killer left had already been washed away.

"They searched these woods when Paloma first went missing and didn't find anything," Eric mentioned.

"That's not surprising. They could be feet away from the body and not see it. But we have that mud trace to tell us Wick was near the old house around the time he killed her."

The trees gave way to a clearing created by a boggy pond. Just beyond it was a dilapidated house, the wood-shingled roof sagging precariously in the middle, the boards of the porch already half gone. Flecks of yellowy paint clung here and there to the wood. It caught the last orange rays of the late sun.

"He could have dumped the body in the pond."

"Five days ago? She'd be a floater by now."

They made their way through what had once, years ago, been a garden, now a tangle of weeds and saplings.

Calleigh suddenly looked at Eric with wide eyes. "Shh. Do you hear something?" she asked quietly.

He paused and listened. After a moment, there was a soft creak coming from the direction of the house, and what could have been a faint voice.

"There's someone here."

They both made their way as quickly as they could to the house, skirting the edge of the pond.

"Hello?" Eric called as he pushed aside the rotting door. He paused for a second at the sight of dried blood drops on the bare floorboards.

"Paloma?" Calleigh said as she entered behind him.

There was a tiny response. "Help. Please. I'm in here."

Calleigh followed the voice to the next room, where an intact door led to what she guess was a closet. She opened it.

Light spilled in to reveal a young woman whose face and clothes were caked in blood. Her lips were dry and cracking. Her eyes closed against the sudden brightness.

"Eric, call an ambulance." She knelt down next to the young woman. "Don't worry, Paloma. You're safe now."

"He was going to kill me," she muttered, her voice a hoarse whisper. "He was so angry. I pretended I was dead so he'd stop beating me, but then he dragged me here. I couldn't move. I hoped someone would come."

"We're here now. You're going to be okay," Calleigh took her hand as Eric called for an ambulance.

* * *

"Looks like we won't be getting Roger Wick on a murder charge after all," Eric said as they watched the paramedics load Paloma into an ambulance once they got her out of the woods.

"But we've got him solid for attempted murder." Calleigh replied, smiling briefly before shaking her head. "I can't imagine what it must have been like, trapped in that house for five days, wondering if anyone would ever find her."

"We found her." Eric put his arm around her. "She'll be okay now."

"Yeah." She rested her head on his shoulder and took his hand. "So will we."

"Yeah we will."

"Let's go home."

The End


End file.
